Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

T he next few days passed in a blur. Once more, she found herself keeping her thoughts to herself and didn't divulge to Dorothy. She kept her conversations about her comings and goings to her dealings with Jenny. Anything that happens with Thomas ( what a thrill to even say his name ) was just for her.

She sat at the breakfast table with her father, lazily buttering a biscuit, when her father knocked over his cup of tea.

"Damn it. Oh, excuse my language, my dear. I'm out of sorts this morning," her father said while blotting the spilled tea.

Frances took in her father. His clothes seemed a bit rumpled, as if he slept in them. "Are you well, Papa? Do we need to call for the physician?"

Solomon waved her off. "What? Oh, no. Nothing of the sort. Just going over some business deals in my mind, and I wasn't paying attention to where my cup was."

Frances went back to her biscuit. She always enjoyed the morning, when the day was new, and the world was still quiet. From her spot at the table, she could hear birds chirping and see the dew sparkle in the morning light.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Frances looked away from the window. "Papa? Are you sure everything is all right? You seem anxious this morning."

Solomon stilled his tapping fingers. "I hear you're visiting Duke Pilton and his sister again today."

Frances nodded. "Yes. Jenny and I are getting along. She is a very sweet girl. I'm taking her to the modiste today to pick out some ribbons to match her dress."

"Ah. That sounds nice. Will it be just the two of you? Or will Duke Pilton be joining you?"

Frances sat taller in her chair. "The Duke will be joining us. Jenny thinks his tastes in clothing are questionable and asked if I would help spruce him up a bit. We'll be making a quick stop at the tailor next door."

Solomon's eyes lightened up with intrigue. "Is that so? You've been going over there quite a lot recently. Am I to believe that someone has finally caught my daughter's beautiful eye?"

Frances let out a laugh and scrunched her nose. "No, Papa. Nothing of the sort. Our relationship is purely platonic. I am being a friend to Jenny, and he is just there."

If she didn't know any better, she would think her father looked a bit disappointed at her explanation. Surely, he wasn't expecting her to set her sights on a duke. A baron's daughter was no match for a duke, even if he did come from a humble background. He was still a duke, he'd most likely marry a daughter of another duke or maybe an earl.

Frances rubbed at the ache forming in her chest. She refused to dissect why the thought of the Duke with someone else caused her heart to sink. She had to be careful. She had an agreement with the Duke, one that would let her experience something she most likely would never get another chance to experience. She shouldn't muck it up by allowing feelings to get in the way.

"Miss Frances?" Thankfully Simmons' interruption stopped her heart from running away from her. "The carriage has pulled up and is ready for you."

"Thank you, Simmons. Papa? I must be going. I promised Jenny I would be there promptly at nine." She rose from the table, and after placing a kiss to the top of his head, she went outside to the carriage.

Today would be her first lesson with Thomas, and she had no idea what to expect.

"I think this one matches the lace eyelets of the dress beautifully." Frances picked up a rose-colored ribbon. "And it will accent your hair nicely."

Jenny took the ribbon from Frances and held it close to her hair. "I wish I had your color of hair."

"You must be joking." Frances rolled her eyes. "Your hair is beautiful, so shiny and soft. Plus, with my hair and coloring, I'm more prone to freckling."

Jenny shrugged. "Are freckles so bad?"

Frances chuckled. "I don't think so, but then again, I'm not known to follow every expectation of the ton to the letter. And neither should you."

"Well that I can do. I'm certain I will forget when I'm supposed to dance, laugh, hide, or eat."

Frances took the ribbon and handed it to the modiste to place with the other ribbons they picked out for purchase. "It's quite easy. You should have no problem with suitors approaching you for a dance. Have them sign your card, and when the song comes on, dance with them. If they say something witty, laugh. If they say something rude, either bat your eyes like you don't understand, or…" She leaned into Jenny. "…pretend to trip over your dress and kick them in the shins."

Jenny giggled into her fan. "You are too much, Frances. I wish I had your candor."

"It comes with age," Frances replied.

"If that's the case, then that explains my brother."

Frances felt her cheeks heat with the mention of Thomas. She walked over to a dress hanging near the counter and pretended to inspect the ruffles along the neckline. "Speaking of your brother, how is he fairing lately?"

Jenny wandered through the dresses. "As grumpy as ever. He was never talkative, but since arriving in London, he barely speaks to even me. I think the most he speaks to anyone is when you're around."

Frances' hand stilled on the dress. "I'm sure that isn't true."

"It is. Which is fine. Most of his words come out at grunts or groans when I'm around. I'm starting to think he's more animal than human."

Frances considered that for a moment. "Was he always like that? I would think it would be hard to run a business with primitive language."

Jenny laughed. "No. While he was never very personable, I remember him being able to hold a conversation without rolling his eyes or huffing at my quips. He was much more manageable when Father was alive."

"You remember your parents?"

"My father, yes. My mother, no."

Frances cocked her head, "I didn't realize they passed at different times." So much heartbreak for one family.

"Yes, Mama passed shortly after my birth. Our father raised us in a small apartment above our store. Thomas was always at the store with him. He would run deliveries when he was younger, and when he became older, he assisted Father with ledgers and deals." Jenny frowned at the golden gown in the window. "It's where he felt most comfortable, I guess. He gets numbers. It's probably why it's so easy for him to throw himself into the business side of the duchy. Personally, I find it rather dull."

"I'm so sorry, Jenny. I lost my mother when I was very young, and I really don't remember her either. I remember her scent, or at least, there's a scent my memory associates with her. Vanilla. It always calms me."

"Vanilla?" Jenny looked up from the dress she was looking at. "Hmm, yes. I like that scent as well."

The salesgirl brought Frances the bag of ribbons. "I think we've had enough melancholy for one morning." She glanced at the table clock on the counter. "We should move next door; His Grace should be there by now."

Jenny smiled and took the offered bag of ribbons and Frances' hand. "I can't wait to see what you picked out for him. Anything has to be better than that green monstrosity he brought with him."

Frances laughed as she stepped out into the street. The warm sun felt nice on her face. Freckles be damned. She used to carry a parasol everywhere, but it never stopped the freckles from forming. She imagined she'd be walking around without a parasol more often. The sun felt glorious.

"Oh no." Jenny stopped as Frances reached for the door of the tailor. "They forgot to put the rose-colored ribbon in the bag. You go on inside, I'll be just a minute."

Frances watched Jenny disappear back into the modiste. She really shouldn't go inside the tailor without Jenny. Then again, she was technically Jenny's chaperone, and the shopkeeper is most likely in there with the Duke. It's not like she would be all alone with the man.

With a quick glance around, she took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The tailor's shop was darker than the modiste. She was used to light colors and floral scents. Here, dark wood surrounded her while the scent of sandalwood and leather filled the air.

Add a hint of brandy, and it would smell just like Thomas.

"Anyone here?" Frances stood by the door, waiting for someone to come forward. Stealing her spine, she walked further into the store. "Duke Pilton? Are you here?" Silence.

Tell me the damned man forgot to come. Or maybe he didn't want to come. She couldn't tell which one was worse. That he purposefully didn't show because he changed his mind, or he wasn't interested in her, and he forgot.

She made her way into the back of the store and walked through a curtain. She found herself in a small room with two doors on either side and a mirror in front of her. There was rustling coming from the curtain to her right. Realization of where she was dawned on her and she spun on her heel to retreat back to the main area.

"Johnson, is that you?" Thomas' gruff voice barked out from behind the curtain. "This blasted cravat isn't working. Why do these bloody things exist?"

Thomas barged out of the curtain, tugging at the material wrapped around his neck.

"Miss Frances?"

"Duke Pilton."

"Where's Jenny?"

Frances couldn't help but stare at his neck. She knew it was preposterous to stare at something so common as a neck, but she couldn't tear her eyes from his. She never really considered one's neck. But his was enticing. His was thick with a strong vein that ran along it. And his Adam's apple… is that what they call it? Why is it called an Adam's apple?

" Frances!"

She blinked. Was she just staring at his throat and questioning the name of his Adam's apple?

"Hmm?"

"Where's Jenny?"

"Oh. Um, the modiste forgot to put a ribbon in the bag, so she went back to get it. She should be right back." Hopefully . This room was way too small, and the Duke was way too large. She shouldn't be here alone with him. As much as it excited her, she knew it wasn't the time or place for her first lesson.

"Did you see Johnson?" Thomas looked strained. "The tailor. Did you see him when you walked in?"

Frances shook her head. "No. There was no one out front, so I wandered and ended up back here."

"Hmph." Thomas turned and stepped toward the mirror. He continued his fight with the cravat, murmuring to himself.

After a quick listen to see if anyone was outside the main curtain, Frances stepped in front of Thomas. "Here. Let me do it. I used to help Papa with his all the time. He didn't like the way his steward did it."

Her fingers shook when she took the silk in her hands. It didn't escape her that this was the first time she stood this close to him on her terms. "The trick is to keep the material wide, so when it lays, it gives a slight ruffle on the edge. More pleasing to the eyes."

"Hmm."

Frances raised an eyebrow. She wanted desperately to look up into his eyes, but she also knew how dangerous that could be. "At a loss for words, Your Grace? Usually, you are quick to respond."

Silence.

After finishing the knot, she ran her hands up around the neck of his tailcoat to fit it nicely with the newly knotted cravat. It wasn't until her fingers brushed his hair which curled over the collar that she realized how close they were.

"Did you know that you bite your lip when you concentrate?"

Frances' hands stilled as her eyes drifted ever so slowly up to meet his. Piercing blue eyes stared back at her. "Your bottom lip." A fingertip ran across her bottom lip, eliciting a soft groan from her.

"Do that again." Thomas demanded.

"Do what?"

The whispering touch moved to cup her cheeks. "The groan. Do it again."

Frances' mind whirled. What did he mean? How was she supposed to — Thomas' lips crashed down on hers, forcing another groan from her. This time, he met hers with one of his own.

That sound. That glorious sound was music to her ears. He pushed her up against the mirror, still cradling her head in his hands. Explosions of excitement and curiosity burst throughout her body. She couldn't touch enough of him. She didn't know where to put her hands, so she settled them in his hair.

She held on tightly, never wanting this moment to end. Her nails raked against his scalp, causing Thomas to growl against her lips. He likes that. The thought she could affect a man such as Thomas in this way emboldened her.

She felt his knee push against her legs, effectively separating them, and she let him. His one hand left her hair and traveled down her body, cupping her breast. His lips followed, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her throat, stopping to suck a sweet spot on her neck. Her head tipped back giving him more room to explore.

Heat pooled in her body. Instinct had her pushing her body against his, writhing against his leg. She willingly handed over the reins to Thomas, excited to see where he would take her.

In her bliss, it took her a minute to realize he stopped his kiss. "We shouldn't do this here."

Frances heard the words, but her brain was still misfiring from what his hands were doing. "What?" The word came out breathless.

"Anyone could walk in. This is not the place for this kind of lesson."

Frances couldn't comprehend what was happening. How was he able to go from hot to cold so quickly? She felt as if an inferno was coursing through her body.

His hands cradled her head once again and tipped it back, so he could look into her eyes. "I see your confusion. I want nothing more than to continue this particular lesson. But taking you in what essentially is a closet is not on my syllabus for our lessons."

With that he disappeared behind the changing door. "I recommend you return to the front of the store before someone comes to find you back here," he called from behind the door. "I imagine Jenny should be out there."

Frances' eyes flew open wide.

Oh no, Jenny. She had to be back by now!

Frances pushed through the curtain that led back to the main room. "Jenny?" Her voice croaked. Clearing her throat, she called out again, "Jenny, are you here?"

"I'm here!" Jenny's voice drifted from the front of the store. "Sorry, I've never been in a tailor's shop before. It's so dark and moody. No wonder my brother didn't mind coming here."

Frances made her way towards Jenny, praying her hair wasn't telling of her dalliance with Thomas. "I was looking for the shopkeeper; he may be in the back helping your brother with his clothing."

"Ah ladies," a soft male voice snuck up behind them, "I'm sorry for my delay. I was out back receiving a shipment. I was waiting for Duke Pilton to finish dressing. Miss Ambrose, you have exquisite taste. I admit, when I received your correspondence with suggestions, I had my doubts that a woman would understand the complexities of men's attire, but the fit and colors you suggested are remarkable."

Frances bit her tongue. She spoke three languages, played several instruments, and this man was doubting her intelligence to pick out colors. " Thank you, kind sir. It is amazing that us women know anything about men's clothing. Usually, we're too busy putting on four layers of our own clothes to pay attention to men's fashion," she said mockingly.

The tailor nodded knowingly, completely missing her tone. "Very true. If you'll excuse me, I'll check in on His Grace."

Jenny snickered and pulled Frances to her.

"Did you see Thomas? Was he able to find something that fit him better? He's always griping about the cravats."

Frances swallowed and chewed her lip. "Um, yes. I think so. He definitely found something that fit him nicely."

Me.